Last Call (11 page)

Rosamond begins to nervously finger her habit and Hayden turns the conversation in a less prickly direction.

“Di-Di, is there a chance you could lend Rosamond something to wear until she can go shopping?”

“Yes, of course.” Diana attempts to get a sense of Rosamond’s measurements despite all the dark billowy covering. “In fact, I think we’re about the same size.”

“Good, because she’s getting out o’ the nun business.”

Diana refuses to fall into another of Hayden’s traps by asking why, since it’s hardly likely he’ll tell the truth, especially now that he’s obviously had a few drinks. For the time being Diana can only speculate. Has he converted Rosamond to his breezy atheism? Or is the reason more sinister, does she need a disguise because she’s in hiding as the result of a scandal, something Hayden might know about or even be involved in, such as an insurance scam? She knows he’s always lived honestly, but lately he keeps referring to the fact that he’d planned on leaving a more sizable inheritance, and had counted on working at least another ten years.

“It will feel strange to go shopping after two decades of wearing the same thing every day,” muses Rosamond. “Actually, I don’t even know where to begin.” And it’s true, she has only the vaguest notion of what people wear these days. From what she’d seen in the hospital, people dressed much more casually than they used to, even for work.

Rosamond recalls that as a young girl she’d adored pretty clothes, sewing outfits for her dolls and making suits from construction paper for pictures of people that she would cut out of magazines. Only the latest fashions had been the last thing on her father’s mind, especially after her mother passed away. He was a fisherman through and through, more concerned with practicality—keeping dry and washing the sea salt off your boots so that the soles didn’t rot. So until she entered the convent, most of her days had been spent in a plaid school jumper, blue church dress, or else coveralls and oilskins for helping out on the boat.

Upon hearing that a gullible consumer is headed directly into the commission books of potentially insincere salesclerks, Diana’s maternal instincts go into high gear. “I have tomorrow morning off. I’ll take you shopping.”

“And in the afternoon I’ll show her around the hospital supply store,” adds Hayden. “I already called to have my bed delivered.”

“Oh Dad, we’re not really going to have a hospital bed in the sunroom.”

“Diana, you
said
I could die here with you. Now are you sure you wouldn’t rather I go to your sister Linda’s house in Nouveau Jersey?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that . . .”

Hayden and Rosamond and Joey all stare at Diana as if she might suggest a magic potion that has the power to ward off death.

“It’s just that . . . why do you have to sound so
excited
about it?” Diana finally manages to articulate her difference in philosophy. It’s not normal to view dying as an adventure. “And why must you always discuss these things in front of Joey?”

“What? Would you rather tell Joey that I’ve moved to Brigadoon until one day he stumbles across my ashes in an urn under the kitchen sink?”

“Oh,
Dad,
” moans Diana.

chapter seventeen

A
t ten minutes after nine the next morning two burly deliverymen arrive with the hospital bed and Hayden directs them to the sunroom in the back of the house. It’s a modest but cheerful space with a bay window looking out onto the small square of lawn that passes for a backyard.

“Joe-Joe, isn’t it a grave-nudger’s dream?” Hayden bounces up and down on the mattress. “Why don’t you man the controls and take it on its maiden voyage?”

Joey sullenly shakes his head “no” and stalks out of the room.

Undaunted, Hayden begins to experiment with final poses—lying on top of the bed, hands crossed above his chest and head propped up slightly by a pillow. When Rosamond enters the room wearing one of Diana’s pale yellow summer dresses he leaps up as if he’s both astonished at the transformation and delighted by what he sees.

Rosamond pretends not to notice his pleasure, although she has to admit she’s been hoping he’ll make some comment, even if it’s just one of his jokes or sarcastic remarks.

“Well, well,” says Hayden.

“Well what?” asks Diana, following Rosamond into the room. “Dad, isn’t that dress attractive on Rosamond?”

“I’ve seen more meat on a butcher’s pencil.” Hayden hadn’t realized what a slender figure Rosamond was hiding beneath her flowing habit.

Rosamond looks away, crestfallen, despite her initial feeling that even a sarcastic acknowledgment would do.

“Dad!”
scolds Diana.

“I didn’t say anything bad!” Hayden protests, a bit abashed. “It’s a lovely frock—nice as ninepence. You have a terrific sense of style, Diana. I’ve always said that about you.”

“You’ve never once said that about me,” she corrects him.

“I haven’t? Well, I’ve always thought it. Except for that short black leather skirt you wore in college.”

Rosamond breaks into a deep bronchial cough, and everyone is swiftly reminded that all they’re doing is temporizing, savoring what should be an ordinary moment as a way of staving off the grim reality of their situation.

As soon as Rosamond has caught her breath Diana announces, “We’re going shopping in the city—Lord and Taylor, Macy’s, then Eighth Street in the Village for shoes.”

“Have fun.” Hayden fumbles in his pocket and hands Diana his credit card. “It’s on me. And make sure to get something for yourself.”

“Why, aren’t you coming?” Rosamond appears surprised and feels a stab of disappointment.

“Dad, shopping?” Diana scoffs. “He never even went into the department stores he insured.”

Hayden is momentarily uncertain of what to do. “No, I mean, well I, Joey, that is . . . I’ve got to . . .”

Just then Joey appears in the hallway and gives Hayden an angry look. How many times did he have to tell his grandfather to stop acting happy about dying?

“I’m going with them,” says Joey without looking at his grandfather. “Mom is letting me pick out my birthday present.”

But Hayden mistakes the fury in Joey’s youthful countenance for determination and hops off his new bed. “Then that settles it. I’d better go and get me loafers.”

Diana’s jaw drops in amazement while Rosamond smiles self-consciously. When Hayden goes upstairs to change his slippers for shoes, he’s shocked to find that Linda’s old bedroom, now a sewing room, is experiencing a snowstorm of white feathers, constantly renewing itself from the air swells created by the ceiling fan overhead, which someone has turned on high. On the floor he finds the slashed carcasses of three pillows. It’s only now that Joey’s strange mood sinks into Hayden’s consciousness. Apparently the hospital bed has not been perceived as an all-around success. The lad wasn’t known for throwing tantrums and destroying bedding. In fact, the worst thing Hayden can recall him doing was getting Silly Putty on the couch cushions, and that was an accident.

Hayden switches off the fan and the delicate feathers drift downward until they come to rest on the floor, bedspread, and bureau. Now why would Joey go and do something like this? Then Hayden remembers the morning of his father’s death, when he’d stalked out to the barn and broken up the hay bales, pitched the lose straw down onto the floor, and then buried himself underneath the huge pile.

“Dad, are you okay?” From downstairs comes the ever-vigilant voice of the woman able to channel Florence Nightingale.

“Yes, yes. Just polishin’ my shoes.” He closes the sewing room door so that his daughter doesn’t find the mess before he can sneak back in later and clean up while Diana’s preparing dinner. And there were extra pillows in one of the closets. Mary used to stock up whenever linens went on sale.

When Hayden appears on the landing Joey is fearful that his grandfather is going to yell at him. Or worse, tell on him, which means he’ll be grounded and the birthday present will be postponed, if not canceled. And knowing his mother, she’ll probably call the Wildlife Refuge and find that goose feathers carry deadly diseases, and they’ll all have to check into the hospital for painful tests and blood transfusions. But Joey decides that he doesn’t care if he gets punished. He’s not sorry he did it. His grandfather shouldn’t have ordered that stupid deathbed.

Except that Hayden only pulls Joey close and, as if nothing had happened, says, “So we’re going shopping! It’s just like Christmas in July. Almost makes you wish it was snowing, doesn’t it Joe-Joe?”

Diana is too concerned about making it to the stores before the lunchtime crowd to pay attention to Hayden’s exchange with her son. And thus the pair are able to leave without tripping her radar, except for the white feathers that Diana plucks from the back of Hayden’s bushy mane as they climb into the car.

Once inside the large air-conditioned department store Hayden and Joey peer from behind a rack of bathrobes and eye the heavily made-up models offering perfume samples and makeovers to the passing parade of shoppers. Then Hayden pulls Joey over to the lingerie department where a mannequin dressed in only a skimpy black negligee holds their attention for a long period of time. Fortunately Joey seems to have reverted back to his normal, amiable self.

They wander through the racks of pastel-colored bras with matching panties and leopard-print teddies. The heart-shaped sachets tied with pink ribbons emit a powerful blast of hydrangea, and when combined with the silk nightgowns brushing up against their arms, leaves them slightly dizzy.

“May I help you?” asks a gorgeous young woman with aquamarine eyes and long strawberry-blond hair who is poured into a clingy and low-cut purple sheath dress.

“No!” Hayden practically shouts. “I mean, yes, we’re lost.” Hayden looks at Joey and places his hands on his grandson’s shoulders. “We’ve lost this poor child’s mother. Perhaps you could direct us to ladies’ sportswear.”

The woman smiles knowingly and says, “Right on the other side of those escalators.” She points a burgundy-tipped finger toward the opposite end of the store.

Hayden and Joey pause at the brightly lit jewelry counter, glass cases glittering with stones and gold chains in all shapes and sizes resting in dark green velvet-covered trays. “Joe-Joe, let me give you a little lesson about women. See all this stuff here?” He points to the bracelets, earrings, and necklaces. “It all has a secret code with women. Men don’t have a copy o’ the code. But we’ve figured out most of it,” Hayden whispers conspiratorially. “Do’an’ ever buy jewelry at the start of a relationship, because then you don’t have room to grow. After six months or a year you get her a nice pair o’ earrings.” Hayden taps on the case to indicate the gold hoops. “Then on the second Christmas you buy the bracelet. If she’s expectin’ an engagement ring but you’re not quite ready you can stall with a necklace containing her birthstone.”

Finally Hayden points accusingly at the diamond rings. “These you don’t go near under any circumstance, unless you’re very very sure you want to marry the lass. There’s no such thing as a friendship diamond, no matter what her sister tells you, do you understand me?”

“But what about
after
you’re married?”

“Oh, that’s easy. She just charges whatever she likes and brings it home, holds up what you bought for her, and you pretend to have a heart attack when the bill arrives.”

Hayden hears Rosamond’s cough coming from the women’s clothing department followed by her voice. “That’s too expensive. I mean, I think I only have six months or something . . .”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” insists Diana. “You sound just like Dad. He won’t even renew his magazine subscriptions. I could just as easily say the same thing about a New Year’s Eve dress—that I’m only going to wear it once so I shouldn’t pay very much. But that’s no way to live.”

“At least it isn’t if you have credit cards,” Hayden says to Joey as they approach the women, but Diana overhears him.

“Very funny, Dad. Now come back here to the changing room and keep an eye on our things.”

Hayden and Joey sit down on an overstuffed pink velvet couch in a lounge area along with a number of men who are dismally waiting, covered in shopping bags and women’s purses. Some are sleeping with their heads tilted back and mouths open as if they’ve been there for days. Three are huddled around a portable TV watching a ball game. Joey and Hayden play paper, scissors, stone while Diana reviews the nearby metal racks to see what other shoppers have rejected.

Two of the men have started laying side bets on Joey and Hayden’s game in order to help pass the time. “Joe-Joe, now don’t just throw out anything—you need to have a strategy,” Hayden counsels his grandson. “You have to try and determine what I’m thinking and then head me off. To be successful in life one must always anticipate.”

Rosamond eventually emerges from behind the curtain wearing a tangerine-colored summer skirt and a white blouse with flowered lace trim. Diana rushes over to adjust the collar and turns up the cuffs on the sleeves. “What do you think?” Rosamond twirls around, unaware of her spontaneous and profound femininity, but anxious for Hayden’s reaction.

Several of the men wake with a start and like trained lab rats automatically drone: “Terrific,” “I love it,” “Is it time to go?” But upon realizing it’s not they who’ve been summoned, after an appreciative look at the attractive stranger, most either turn to the ball game or doze off again.

Hayden gazes at Rosamond approvingly. To him it appears as if she’s ready to dance on a moonbeam. “It’s . . . it’s more lovely than the fair city o’ Perth.” And it is, at least on her. He’s seen figures more shapely and faces more strikingly beautiful, but never such perfect grace. Her sweetness fills the room like a gentle perfume and even a few of the men continue to gaze upon her with pleasure.

“Thank you. Diana picked out a few things. She thought the white cotton blouse gives me continuity with Catholicism and that the flowers are nice and cheerful for summer.”

Thrilled by Hayden’s reaction, Rosamond turns once again to examine herself in the long mirrors. She’s not so much captivated by the dainty look of her new clothes as by the weightlessness of the fabric. Without the heavy cross and layers of thick cotton for ballast, Rosamond feels as if she might float up toward the ceiling like an escaped helium balloon. For the first time since before checking into the hospital almost two months ago, she’s not experiencing that ever-present shortness of breath.